


The Unexpected Upside of Being Wrong

by florenceshy



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5764558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florenceshy/pseuds/florenceshy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their friends would never believe that Sorey—an almost perfect embodiment of the phrase ‘pure as the driven snow’—had this sort of side to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unexpected Upside of Being Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> I was scrolling through tumblr when I saw this post:
> 
> http://hopenobodyeverfindsthis.tumblr.com/post/136862039677/otpdisaster-person-a-arguing-with-b-to-take-a
> 
> And the idea for this just popped into my head...and then it turned into sin when I started writing it.

Mikleo stands stiffly on the doorstep to the apartment he shares with Sorey, contemplating whether or not he actually wants to go inside and face the inevitable ‘I told you so’ that surely awaits him.  
  
_“I heard it could rain, you should take a coat, just in case.” Sorey says, frowning with concern._  
  
_Mikleo snorts. “The sun is out and I see exactly two clouds in the sky, I think I’ll be okay.”_  
  
_Sorey’s frown deepens and he folds his arms across his chest._  
  
_“The weather can be weird like that, though. Just take it.”_  
  
_Mikleo adjusts the strap on his satchel and mirrors Sorey’s stance._  
  
_“No, I’m not taking it.”_  
  
_“Mikleo!”_  
  
_“I have to carry enough as it is and I’m only going to be out for a few hours. It’ll be fine, Sorey.”_  
  
Mikleo jumps slightly as a sharp crack of thunder and lightning illuminates the sky, his soaking wet hair sticking awkwardly to his face. With a heavy sigh, he takes out his key and inserts it in the lock. Before he can even start turning the key, the door is pulled open and he’s yanked inside.  
  
“Sorey! W-what are you doing?” He asks as he’s pulled against a warm, firm chest, his bag dropping to the floor with a heavy _thump_.  
  
Sorey just wraps his arms around Mikleo’s shivering frame and holds him, ignoring the wetness that soaks into his t-shirt. Mikleo wants to say more, but he can’t stop himself from burrowing against the overwhelming warmth Sorey gives off, so any argument he tried to make would probably sound a little hollow.  
  
“Cold, Mikleo?” Sorey is laughing at him now.  
  
“S-shut up, j-just say it already.” Mikleo’s teeth chatter as he presses impossibly closer. “I can tell you want to.”  
  
Sorey’s body burns like a furnace, he’s always had an unusually high body temperature, a fact Mikleo has never been more grateful for.  
  
“Say what?” Sorey asks as he pulls away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
Mikleo barely suppresses an undignified whine at the loss of Sorey’s warmth, but his discomfort is momentarily forgotten as the brunette begins unceremoniously removing Mikleo’s clothes. Despite the comfortable heat inside the apartment, Mikleo still feels goosebumps raising on his flesh as his turtleneck is pulled gently over his head. His long hair drops back down, slapping wetly against his bare back, making him yelp. Sorey drops Mikleo’s still dripping garment onto the floor and turns to pick up a towel that was folded on the small table by the front door.  
  
“I had a feeling this would come in handy.” Sorey says as he carefully undoes Mikleo’s ponytail and begins to pat the sodden tresses dry.  
  
Mikleo practically purrs as he surrenders himself to Sorey’s patient care. “Did you, now?”  
  
He loses track of how much time is passing and when Sorey’s hands come to rest on his hips, Mikleo feels his face burn. His damp trousers, along with his underwear, are eased down over his slender thighs to pool in a heap at his ankles. Sorey stands back up, but doesn’t make any moves to touch him, his green eyes appraising. Mikleo is caught between being simultaneously embarrassed and aroused by Sorey’s unabashed staring.  
  
He really shouldn’t be embarrassed, not at this stage of their relationship anyhow. They’ve already done _that_ , had done it the previous night, truth be told.  
  
However, it doesn’t seem like _that_ is on Sorey’s mind at that moment, because after a good lot of looking, the brunette simply takes Mikleo’s hand and leads him into the living room. Mikleo is about to ask a question, when he’s abruptly bundled in a thick blanket and shepherded onto the couch and into Sorey’s lap.  
  
“Can I get dressed, please?” He says, slight exasperation creeping into his tone. “If you’re not going t-”  
  
“I like you this way, though.” Sorey says cheekily, as he presses a kiss the back of Mikleo’s neck.  
  
_‘Why you little...’_  
  
In the end, Mikleo keeps quiet. He’s warm, out of his wet clothes and comfortable, if slightly sexually frustrated.  
  
_‘Two can play at that game, Sorey.’_  
  
Mikleo makes a small show of settling himself against Sorey, making sure to wriggle his hips in just the right way when he reaches for the cup of tea on the coffee table, causing the other to still beneath him.  
  
“So, anything... _stimulating_ on TV tonight?” Mikleo says, adding a pause for maximum effect.  
  
If he’s being completely honest with himself, his behaviour is rather petty and childish, but he’s having too much fun to stop now.  
  
“U-uh, yeah, there’s this documentary on ancient shipwrecks on the other channel,” Sorey was doing a decent job of hiding whether or not Mikleo’s teasing was having any impact on him. “We’ve missed the first fifteen minutes or so, I thi-”  
  
Mikleo leaned forward and retrieved the remote control, satisfaction spiking when Sorey’s speech was interrupted by a hastily sucked-in breath.  
  
“Hm, did you say something?” Mikleo asked as he leaned back against Sorey, casually pulling one of the brunette’s arms to drape across his front.  
  
“It’s nothing.” Sorey said, his voice a tad higher than before.  
  
Mikleo turned the television to the program Sorey had mentioned and began to absentmindedly stroke his fingers over the other’s forearm. The documentary was actually quite fascinating, but his attention was mostly taken up trying to gauge how long it would take Sorey to crack under his ministrations. Mikleo briefly halts his petting to reach up with his arm and tuck some hair behind his ear, disengaging the blanket from one pale shoulder. Mikleo can almost feel Sorey’s eyes on him now. In his efforts to get a rise out of his boyfriend, he’s inadvertently inflamed his own desires and his growing hunger for Sorey’s touch makes his skin itch. If Sorey doesn’t hurry and _do something_ , Mikleo might snap and jus-  
  
“You’re doing this on purpose,” Sorey says, at last. “Aren’t you?”  
  
“Doing what?” Mikleo feigns innocence, using the exact words Sorey had used in response to him earlier. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
Suddenly Sorey lets out a growl and before Mikleo can react, he’s pinned between Sorey and the couch cushions. Anticipation pools in his stomach as the blanket tangled around his body is roughly pushed aside and the calluses on Sorey’s palms scrape against the slight protrusions of his hips.  
  
“I think, you mean for me to warm you up in a different way, is that it?”  
  
“S-Shut up and get on with it.” Mikleo manages to grit out.  
  
It’s obvious neither of them is particularly interested in any foreplay tonight. A tube of lubricant is produced from somewhere—likely having fallen beneath the couch after their last spontaneous coupling in the living room—and Mikleo gasps as Sorey’s finger enters him, curling and moving inside him with an easy familiarity.  
  
They’ve come a long way from their initial inexperienced fumblings; a mix of overly nervous touches and uncertain whispers of _does this feel good_ and _do you want me to stop_.  
  
Now, Sorey knows exactly what to do to push him to the brink of ruin, playing his body like a well-tuned instrument.  
  
“A-ah!” Mikleo cries out as he feels a second finger stretching him open.  
  
Sorey leans closer and his breath is hot against Mikleo’s ear when he speaks. “Tell me what you want, Mikleo.” Punctuating each word with a thrust of his digits.  
  
Their friends would never believe that Sorey—an almost perfect embodiment of the phrase ‘pure as the driven snow’—had this sort of side to him.  
  
“I want _you_ ,” Mikleo half-moaned in response. “H-hurry up! I’m ready!”  
  
Sorey smiles devilishly as he removes his fingers completely, eliciting a frustrated whimper from Mikleo. “Hmm? Ready for what? Be more specific.”  
  
Mikleo lets out a curse, need and impatience bleeding together to smother his ability to maintain any sort of composure. He reaches out and grasps the waistband of Sorey’s trousers, pulling them open with such force that the buttons fly off. The brunette makes a sound of protest, which is quickly strangled when Mikleo’s long fingers wrap tightly around his cock.  
  
“You want specifics? Alright then.” Mikleo said, licking his lips in a way he knows will catch Sorey’s attention. “I want this,” He brushes his thumb over the head of Sorey’s cock to make his point, feeling it give a little twitch in reaction. “Inside me. Right. Now.”  
  
Sorey blows out a harsh breath. “A-ah, well, since you asked so nicely.”  
  
Mikleo drops back to lie against the cushions as Sorey begins applying a generous amount of lubricant to himself.  
  
“Sorey, do it now, please.” Mikleo begs as the other takes his time positioning himself. “I nee-”  
  
Mikleo inhales sharply when he feels the tip of Sorey’s cock press against his entrance, his lower body tensing in preparation and soon enough, the brunette pushes forward.  
  
For a few brief moments, Mikleo is overcome by the feeling—the sheer fullness—of Sorey inside him. No matter how many times they do this, the sensations and emotions are always that little bit different every time.  
  
Fisting his hands in the fabric of Sorey’s shirt, Mikleo pulls him down to crash their lips together, opening his mouth in eager invitation. Immediately, Sorey’s tongue is sweeping in to tangle with his own and his hips begin to move, setting a brisk pace.  
  
Mikleo slides his hands underneath Sorey’s shirt to splay against the firm and deliciously sculpted muscles of his back while Sorey’s fingers are grasping at Mikleo’s ticklish sides, digging in with enough force to almost ensure there’ll be bruises, come the following day.  
  
Ultimately, it’s quick, rough, and _oh so good_ for it.  
  
Sorey’s hips buck and then still as he releases himself inside Mikleo with a sharp cry, stars dancing across his vision as he counsels himself to remain upright. Mikleo’s back arches and his nails drag over Sorey’s shoulder blades, the friction and the molten heat of the brunette’s own climax tipping him over the edge; he comes with Sorey’s name on his lips.  
  
In the minutes that follow, Mikleo attempts to regain some sort of control over his breathing, made more difficult by the acute sensitivity he always feels after sex. The slightly stale smell of sweat that lingers in the air, Sorey soft and heavy and still inside him, the trembling in his legs at even the most paltry effort to push himself up; all of it washes over him like a tidal wave.  
  
Sorey—who always seems to have energy to spare—moves them from the couch to the bathroom and then into the shower. Mikleo goes along without resistance, allowing Sorey to hold him up under the warm spray, uttering a quiet murmur of thanks when his boyfriend dutifully towels his long hair dry for the second time that night.  
  
His wet clothes are still lying in the front corridor and the blanket in the living room is definately going to need to be washed, but Mikleo just doesn’t have the energy to worry about any of that now; he decides he’ll deal with it tomorrow.  
  
“Mikleo,” Sorey says suddenly, after they’ve finally fallen naked into bed and Mikleo is tucked against Sorey’s side, about to fall asleep. “I need to tell you something.”  
  
“Mm?” Mikleo hums, too tired to speak.  
  
Roughly thirty seconds pass. Mikleo is just drifting off again, thinking Sorey’s already asleep, when the brunette speaks up.  
  
“I told you so, about the rain, I mean.”  
  
Mikleo groans aloud, but thinks to himself, if this is what being wrong gets him, he might just be tempted to do it more often.


End file.
